


3. Cup

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Curses, Fuck Or Die, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Sex Pollen, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: cupFucking sex curses. Geralt hates them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 13
Kudos: 545





	3. Cup

Geralt has spent the last twenty minutes listening to this twit prattle on about the drowner infestation, and usually he would've negotiated his price and left already, but.

But, Jaskier.

Jaskier, who is steadily making his way through the food laid out for them, probably to butter him up so he'll take the job, and with every new morsel, Jaskier is making sinful little noises of delight that are going straight to Geralt's cock. Not that he'd admit to his bard how attractive he finds him; Jaskier's head would probably explode.

The alderman is still talking, apparently oblivious to the fact that Geralt stopped paying attention at least five minutes ago. He had all but stopped Geralt in the street almost as soon as they had entered the city, had invited them to his house. Geralt had been perplexed; this was not the sort of greeting he was used to. Jaskier had, of course, taken it all in stride, thanking the man for his kindness with many a bow and a smile.

They had been served food and drink, and the alderman almost burst with pride when he held out an absolutely atrociously decorated silver cup, heavy with gems and surprisingly lewd figures molded to the sides. "An heirloom, sir Witcher, only used for our most esteemed guests," the man had said, holding it out for Geralt to take with a proud gleam in his eyes.

"Thank you, but I think this is better suited for my companion," and of course Jaskier had taken the ugly thing with a laugh and another overly exaggerated bow.

"I am much obliged, good sir, please ignore this brute. He wouldn't know style if you hit him in the head with it."

Now, Jaskier has drained that cup once already and is working on his second round, and finally the alderman is coming to the end of his explanations. Geralt "Hmm"s at him when he thanks him again, his patience wearing thin with all the bowing and being thanked so profusely, especially in advance.

"Let me also recommend one of our inns, in case you would like to rest," and he points them down the road.

The moment they can hear the door of the alderman's house closes behind the man, Jsskier groans loudly. "Melitele's heaving bosom, I thought he was _never_ going to shut up."

Geralt walks ahead, rolling his eyes. "That's rich, coming from you."

"Oh, shush, you lump. You love my voice and you know it," Jaskier says with a huff, and Geralt smiles.

They walk in silence then, with just the occasional twang of Jaskier's lute strings, and Geralt makes a mental list of things he will need to get rid of the drowners. He should scout the river before dark, mediate tonight...

"Geralt," Jaskier says behind him, an odd note to his voice, "I feel funny."

"Don't worry, lark, you're not," he replies with a chuckle, rolling his eyes.

"No, I mean-" The bard chokes on whatever he was going to say next, and Geralt whirls around.

"Jaskier? What's wrong?"

"I... I don't know." He looks up at Geralt, fingers clutching at his collar, and there's... not exactly panic in his eyes, but deep confusion. "Something's happening to me, I-"

Geralt takes a step closer just as Jaskier pulls open his doublet, images of the way the bard had clutched at his throat after the djinn flashing through Geralt's mind, but then he smells it.

No, he almost _drowns_ in it. Jaskier smells like _lust_ , so powerful and potent it almost knocks the Witcher off his feet. His arm comes up instinctively to cover his nose. "Jaskier, what-"

"I don't know," the bard wails, growing more and more frantic. "I, I need, I can't-" He looks up at Geralt, blue eyes wide and a little glassy. " _Help me, Geralt_ ," he whines, pulling at his chemise now. There's sweat on his brow, and his cheeks are flushed despite the early autumn chill.

 _Fuck_ , Geralt thinks. Lust potion, or curse, or- something, anyway. "To the inn. Now."

Jaskier whimpers, and Geralt can see his knees wobble. "I don't think I can walk," he says brokenly, and Geralt curses. The scent coming off of the bard is almost overwhelming his senses, and he looks around until he spots some clothes hung up to dry behind a house. He all but runs over, ignoring Jaskier's sound of distress, and snatches a sheet off of the line, ripping it into pieces. He ties that over his nose and hurries back, scooping the bard into his arms without ceremony.

"Hold on," he growls, and Jaskier winds a rubbery arm around his neck, making a happy little sound that, combined with his heat and scent, makes it very hard for Geralt to walk.

Because as much as he may gripe about the bard, act annoyed at his antics and by the fact that he has fucked his way across the continent both in Geralt's company and without it, he would be lying through his teeth if he said he doesn't enjoy having Jaskier by his side. And he would be an even bigger liar if he said he never thought about taking him to bed. In detail.

Geralt is just shit with words, and somehow the opportunity to bed the bard had never presented itself.

Yen would probably say he's a hopeless romantic, and she wouldn't be all that wrong.

By the time they reach the inn, Jaskier is a sweaty, whimpering mess in his arms, entirely beyond words, and Geralt's grip on his own desire is tenuous at best. The innkeeper looks confused, and he just growls his demand of a room at her. She looks at Jaskier, at the state he's in, her brow furrowing.

"Is he sick?"

"No," he bites back, glaring. "Witcher business."

She gives him a long look, during which Jaskier starts nosing at his throat, his fingers tangling in his hair, and her eyes narrow. "'S gonna cost you double."

" _Fine,_ " and he stalks off towards the stairs.

"Second door on the right," she calls after him, and there's amusement in her voice. Damn it.

Geralt just barely stops himself from kicking in said door. The room is small, one bed just wide enough for two, a fireplace, a chest of drawers. He shuts the door behind himself by leaning back against it heavily, breathing deeply. He regrets that almost immediately, when all he can smell is Jaskier's arousal, and something in him goes _Mine_ at the scent.

He crosses the room in two strides, dropping Jaskier on the bed, rougher than he intends. Jaskier just moans brokenly, hands flying to his crotch, where his cock is clearly visible through his breeches. Geralt grits his teeth as Jaskier ineffectually tries to push the breeches down, and he grabs his hands and holds them still. Jaskier looks up at him, pleading silently as he writhes, and Geralt squeezes his wrists gently.

"You've been poisoned. Or cursed. _Something_. You have to..." He swallows, tries to steel himself. "From the way you're behaving, I think you need to... to get fucked."

Jaskier moans again, arching his back. " _Yes_ ," he hisses, and the sound of his heartbeat is loud in Geralt's ears. "Yes, fuck me, Geralt, _please, fuck me_..."

He's almost certain he just cracked a tooth with how hard he's gritting them, and his trousers are painfully tight at this point, his cock hard and heavy and obviously of the opinion that this is a _great_ idea. Geralt almost agrees, but. He steps back, releases Jaskier's hands.

"Jaskier, look at me." The bard does, hopeful in a way that makes Geralt throb with desire, but he has to ask. Jaskier may say he wants this but he's been cursed or whatever the fuck, so consent is... tricky at best. "Are you certain? I'm sure there's a brothel, I could-"

The bard surges up suddenly, hand curling in the fabric of Geralt's shirt in an iron grip. "I'm dying," Jaskier says, and he feels like it, feverish as he is, "and if you don't get your cock inside of me as soon as possible, I will _not_ be held accountable for my actions," and the last of Geralt's resolve crumbles.

"Alright, songbird," he says softly, and lets himself be pulled closer. Jaskier pulls the makeshift mask away from his face and kisses him, hungry and artlessly, and Geralt's fingers sink into his hair. If it weren't for how hot and desperate Jaskier feels under his touch, it would be damn near perfect.

He makes quick work of their clothes, Jaskier's attempts at helping more of a hindrance, but finally they're both naked, and the bard shivers from head to toe when Geralt pulls him against his chest.

"Geralt, _please_ , I need, I'm-"

"Sssh, Jask, let me," and he oils up his fingers from the bottle the bard always keeps in his pack. Jaskier is wound tight but all but melts at the first touch of Geralt's fingers to his hole, and he can push one inside with barely any resistance at all. Jaskier makes a high, keening noise, hands grasping at Geralt's shoulders, his cock leaking where it's pressed against Geralt's stomach.

" _Gods_ , yes," he gasps, rocking back against Geralt's hand. "Feels so _good_..."

Despite Jaskier's insistence that he's ready (and damn, Geralt has a hard time arguing with that, given how soft and open Jaskier is for him), the Witcher goes slow, working up to three fingers that have the bard gasping. The rumours about the size of Witchers' cocks may not be true, but Geralt is not small, and he wants to make this as easy for his bard as he can.

Finally he pushes into Jaskier, and the bard claws at his shoulders, urges him to go faster, "Please, _please, fuck me_ , fuck, Geralt," and on and on until Geralt bottoms out. Jaskier quivers around him, eyes closed and jaw slack, and a small part of Geralt, one he would never admit to, is grateful for this curse or whatever it is.

"Good," he asks, breathlessly, and Jaskier smiles drunkenly.

" _So_ good," he breathes, and Geralt notices some of the feverishness has already abated.

Fucking Jaskier, even as out of it as he is, is something he will probably cherish forever. When he pulls back, the bard makes a sound of such profound loss that it almost makes Geralt feel guilty, and when he pushes in again, angling his hips just so, he tightens around him perfectly, his breath hitching and back arching.

It doesn't take long until the noises Jaskier makes get more and more desperate, and Geralt reaches between them, taking the bard's cock in hand, and Jaskier stiffens and comes, head thrown back as he paints Geralt's fist and his stomach with his seed. Geralt stares, the look of pure bliss on Jaskier's face mesmerising.

He fucks him through his orgasm, then slows his thrusts until he stops entirely, still buried in Jaskier. The bard's eyes flutter open, and he looks confused. "What's wrong?"

"How do you feel?" His voice is steady, and he's rather proud of that.

Jaskier's brow furrows. "Like I just had a fantastic orgasm. Why? Why'd you stop?" His eyes flicker down, to where they're still joined.

Geralt follows his gaze, and his cock twitches at the sight. Jaskier moans, eyes fluttering. "If this was a curse, it should be broken now," he says, and moves to pull out of Jaskier. "You're fine."

Jaskier's legs clamp around his waist like iron bands, forcing his cock back inside. The look on his face is equal parts anger and lust. "Did you... Do you not want me," he asks, voice wavering, and Geralt wants to smack himself.

"I. I didn't think you'd want this, except for the curse."

Jaskier's mouth twists. "Geralt, did you just fuck me because of that?"

They stare at each other, and Geralt can hear the bard's heart racing.

"No," he finally replies, "not just because of that."

Jaskier's hand is in his hair, pulling his head down. "Stupid, _stupid_ Witcher," he breathes, and then he's kissing him. When they come up for air, Jaskier gives him a wink. "I thank you for freeing me from this curse, good sir. Now fuck me like you mean it."

Geralt does, and when he spills inside Jaskier, after wringing another orgasm out of the bard, the, "Mine," that he'd only thought earlier comes spilling out as well. Jaskier gasps, blue eyes widening, and then he smiles, bright as the sun.

"Yours," he confirms, and Geralt isn't sure that he's not dreaming.

After, when Jaskier has assured him that he really feels fine now, when they're all tangled up in each other, with Jaskier's head on Geralt's chest, Geralt has to ask.

"Did you mean that?"

Jaskier looks up from where he's stroking his fingers through the hair on Geralt's chest, tracing a scar. "Did you," he asks, and Geralt's heart thumps heavily.

The drowners are dispatched much more easily than he anticipated (apparently the alderman can't count for shit), and when he goes to collect his payment, he asks about the cup. The man has the gall to smile brightly at him.

"A magnificent thing, isn't it? I hope the bard enjoyed himself?"

Geralt walks away with the cup, a purse full of coin, and a string of colourful insults shouted at his back as the alderman sits in the dirt, nursing a bruised jaw.

"Everything alright," Jaskier asks, handing him Roach's reins, and Geralt pulls him into his arms.

"Hm," he says, and kisses his bard.

Something good coming from a curse? _First time for everything_ , he thinks.


End file.
